


Jiminy Cricket and the Tale of the Chupacabra

by menel



Series: The Blind Verse [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Humor, Established Relationship, M/M, Soulless Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-08
Updated: 2012-06-08
Packaged: 2017-11-06 20:23:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/422825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/menel/pseuds/menel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If it looks like a chupacabra, if it kills like a chupacabra, then it's probably a chupacabra.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jiminy Cricket and the Tale of the Chupacabra

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally published on my LiveJournal on December 5, 2010. It fulfilled the prompt 'type: rough' on my Kiss Bingo card. 
> 
> It contains blanket spoilers for Season 6 until episode 9, "Clap Your Hands If You Believe." In the spirit of that episode, this story is an homage of sorts to The X-Files and its plot is taken almost wholesale from Season 4, episode 11 "El Mundo Gira." If the uncertainty of the case kills you, drop me a line and I'll let you know what I really had in mind.

The totally amazing banner was made by the equally amazing [Loverstar](http://loverstar.livejournal.com).

[ ](http://smg.photobucket.com/albums/v300/ciel_en_rouge/Supernatural%20Artwork/?action=view&current=JiminyCricketandtheTaleoftheChupacabra-Version2.png)

Dean stalked out of the small mobile home, kicking some dirt as he walked. Sam trailed behind him, a grin on his face. After a few wide steps, he easily caught up with his brother.

"There is just too much crazy going around!" Dean exclaimed.

"What? You don't believe in little green men?" Sam replied.

"No, Sam," Dean said in exasperation. "I don't believe in little green men."

Sam couldn't stop grinning.

"Weren't you with me in Indiana?" Dean asked, referring to their last case that had put a whole new spin on reality, as if their reality needed any more spinning.

"Not when you were abducted," Sam replied with a straight face.

God, his brother was pushing it.

"What's the first rule again?" Dean asked tightly.

"No jumping you without a soul," Sam automatically replied.

"The other one then," Dean said impatiently.

"No rape tactics."

Dean stopped walking and looked at Sam incredulously. "Is sex all you think about?"

"No," Sam replied without a trace of embarrassment. "But I do think about it a lot. Especially with you," he added.

Dean thought his head was going to explode. He began walking again to let off some steam. "Look, walking id," he said to his brother. "The first rule is empathy, man. Empathy!"

Dean had reached the car. He opened the door to the driver's side a little rougher than usual and got inside.

"Empathy," Sam repeated as he also slid inside the Impala. "What is that again?"

Dean shook his head and started the engine. It was going to be a long drive back to the motel.

* * * * *

"So," Sam began as they settled at the motel's table with a box of pizza and a couple of beers. "If we're not dealing with aliens or fairies, what do you think this is about?"

Dean took a big bite of pizza and began chewing before he answered his brother. "Look where we are," he said, his mouth still half full.

Sam looked around the motel room.

Dean swallowed. "I thought you said your brain worked better without a soul," he pointed out.

Sam looked miffed but not offended. Nothing could offend him these days.

Dean sighed. "We're at a border town, filled with hundreds of illegal immigrants and migrant workers and people start mysteriously dying with their blood being drained through three holes shaped in a triangular pattern. What does that point to?"

"Vampires."

"Three holes shaped in a triangular pattern," Dean emphasized.

Sam waited expectantly.

"A chupacabra."

"A chupacabra?" Sam repeated. "How the hell did you get there?"

"Didn't you read the police reports? About the livestock that's been killed? Mutilated and then drained of their blood? Goats? Sheep? Cattle? The trail of sulfur? We're dealing with a chupacabra."

"Chupacabra means 'goat-sucker,' doesn't it?"

"Yeah, well. They're a lot more democratic than that."

Sam nodded. "Cool," he said, digging into his pizza.

Dean watched as his brother ate before taking another bite of his pizza. Man, it was going to be a long case.

* * * * *

The first victim's name was Maria Morales. She'd been found in a field not far from a settlement of migrant workers. Her body had been drained of blood, but what was bizarre, even by Winchester standards, was the enormous amounts of sulfur that had covered the body, the surrounding field, and the two mutilated goats nearby. An old woman at the settlement had spoken of a 'yellow rain' at the time of Maria's death. Some of the migrant workers believed that the rain had killed Maria. Others thought that the rain had been part of a curse. Still others believed that the rain had brought the chupacabra and so the fear had spread. The chupacabra was among them. The chupacabra would kill again.

There had been one witness to the crime. Eladio Salazar. But Eladio couldn't be found, so the Winchesters spoke to Eladio's brother, Alfredo. He had a very different idea about why Maria was killed.

"There is no chupacabra," Alfredo said in disgust. "El chupacabra is a story the people tell themselves to pass the time."

"People tell stories about mutilated livestock and murdered women to pass the time?" Sam asked.

"Dude, it's an urban legend," Dean said under his breath.

Alfredo remained unfazed. "These people are lonely. Dislocated. They come here for a better life but they don't like what they find. So, they bring their stories with them. Stories that explain away their fear and suffering. Stories like . . . El chupacabra."

"Or maybe they just brought the chupacabra with them," Sam said.

Dean nearly kicked him.

"You don't believe in the chupacabra," Dean went on. "Why don't you tell us what you think happened to Maria?"

"I **know** what happened to Maria," Afredo replied, eyes growing dark. "My brother killed her."

Dean put a hand on Sam's arm to stop him from saying anything and then he said, "Why would your brother do that?"

"Because Maria loved me and not him."

"It's an odd way to kill somebody," Sam observed.

"My brother is a sick man."

"He would be if he's a chupa-"

"How do you account for the yellow rain and the dead goats found at the scene of the crime?" Dean interrupted.

"More foolish superstitions for foolish people," Alfredo answered.

"Well, then," Dean said, giving Sam a look that told him the interview was over. They both stood up. "Thank you for your time."

"What is with you?" Dean asked when they were outside again.

Sam shrugged. "Just being me."

Dean was despondent at the thought. His despondency lasted until he almost walked into the old woman who had told them about the 'yellow rain.' Dean suspected that she was the village gossip, the teller of tales. The chupacabra story had probably started with her.

She eyed Dean and Sam. "You saw Alfredo Salazar, hmm?"

"Yes, m'am. Had a chat with him," Dean replied politely.

She nodded. "Two brothers. One woman. Trouble."

"We are in a goddamn Mexican soap opera," Dean said, when they were far enough from the settlement.

"With a chupacabra," Sam added.

Dean kept on walking.

* * * * *

The following morning Dean decided to pay a visit to the local office for Immigration Services while he sent Sam to the morgue to examine the body of Maria. At the immigration office, Agent Lozano eyed him even more suspiciously than usual. Dean didn't sweat it. He was Special Agent Fox for this case. David Fox.

"Why is the F.B.I. interested in this?" Agent Lozano asked.

"Is it that unusual for the F.B.I. to be interested in a murder?" Dean asked as the immigration agent escorted him to the holding cells.

"It is if it's the murder of an illegal immigrant," Lozano replied. "Nobody cares about them."

"Well, it's more the circumstances of the crime that interest the Bureau," Dean explained, and that was true enough.

It was the wrong answer. Agent Lozano looked more skeptical than ever. "The F.B.I. believes in the chupacabra?"

"No," Dean laughed. "'Course not. But my partner and I were brought up in the Mulder & Scully school."

The agent looked at him blankly.

Dean coughed. "So," he said, gesturing at the files that Agent Lozano was holding. "You got an Eladio Salazar there?"

Agent Lozano began rifling through the folders. "Well, we got a Jose Feliciano here. And a Cesar Montano. Juan Valdez. Placido Domingo." He arched an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I get it," Dean said. "Nobody uses their real name."

Agent Lozano smiled, stopping in front of one of the cells. "And this is Erik Estrada," he said, holding up the paperwork for Dean to see.

"Right." Dean took the folder and stepped inside the small cell.

* * * * *

"So, Mr. Estrada," Dean began, sitting across from the young man, probably no more than twenty years old. "You don't look so good."

"I didn't kill Maria!"

"I didn't say anything about Maria," Dean said, feigning surprise.

"That's why you're here," Eliado accused him. "You think I killed Maria."

Dean leaned forward. "And did you?"

"No!" Eliado exclaimed vehemently. He leaned forward too. "I was trying to save her!"

"Save her from what?"

Eliado leaned forward some more, gesturing for Dean to do the same. "El chupacabra," he whispered.

"Did you see El chupacabra?"

"It was in the woods," Eliado went on, eyes growing wide with fear. "I saw its eyes. They were red. They were the devil's eyes. They hypnotized me. I couldn't move. And then there was the rain! Yellow rain like the smell of the chupacabra! And then a flash of lightning! Maria! MARIA!"

Dean blinked.

Outside the cell, Agent Lozano was waiting for him. Dean returned the folder.

"He's better than Erik Estrada," Agent Lozano observed.

Dean agreed.

* * * * *

"So, how'd the interview go?" Sam asked.

"It was . . . informative."

"Oh yeah? What'd you find out?"

"Red eyes. Yellow rain. A flash of lightning! Maria! MARIA!"

Sam looked at his brother oddly.

Dean sighed. "What'd you find out?"

"I don't think we're dealing with a chupacabra. Turns out Maria's body was covered in a strange fungus."

"And?"

"And the medical examiner doesn't know what to make of it yet. She told me to come back tomorrow."

"The doc didn't say anything about Maria's body being drained of blood? That seems to be a pretty obvious cause of death."

"The fungus has some kind of enzyme. It's related to the blood draining. Doc still needs to figure out how."

"What about the other vics?"

"Two more migrant workers. The first was killed two days after Maria. The second two days after that. Same MO. Drained of blood, traces of sulfur and now our mystery guest - a fungal infection."

Dean was thoughtful. "Well, that pretty much rules out Eladio at least for the third vic. He's been in custody at Immigration Services for the past three days. He could've killed Maria and the second vic, but the third one's gotta be somebody else."

"Maybe he's got a partner."

"Chupacabras aren't pack hunters."

"Thought we'd ruled out the chupacabra."

"I'm keeping an open mind. Even with our mystery enzyme, the other details are too blatant to be ignored. If it looks like a chupacabra, if it kills like a chupacabra, it's probably a chupacabra."

"With an enzyme problem," Sam added. "What's going to happen to Eladio anyway?"

"He'll be put on a bus with the other illegals tomorrow and shipped back to Mexico."

"Well, that takes care of things," Sam stated. "Let the Mexicans deal with the chupacabra. It's their damn monster anyway."

Dean was horrified. "If Eladio really is the chupacabra, we're not just going to let him get on board a bus to massacre helpless people on the way to the border."

"We're not?" Sam asked doubtfully.

"No, Sam. We're not."

"So, what are we going to do?"

"We're going back to Immigration Services in the morning," Dean replied. "We'll stop him before he gets on the bus. And Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Go back to your own bed."

"I'm not jumping you," Sam protested. "I'm barely even touching you," he added, even though his hand had somehow made its way down the side of his brother's body and had settled on Dean's hipbone, fingers nestling in the space where joint met crotch.

"Uh-huh," Dean said, totally unconvinced. "Even if that were true," he went on, generously giving his brother the benefit of the doubt. "This bed's not big enough for two grown men."

"We've shared beds much smaller than this."

"That's because we weren't sleeping."

"I don't sleep."

"I do!"

* * * * *

The Office of Immigration services was a mess the following morning when the brothers arrived.

"Looks like we're too late," Sam observed, taking in the police and immigration officers who were trying to sort through the chaos created by the illegals in the parking lot in front of the single-story building.

Dean scanned the area for Agent Lozano and eventually found him. He walked towards the other man, Sam trailing behind him. "Agent Lozano!" he called out. "What happened here?"

"You F.B.I. are quick," Lozano said. "Just placed a call. Thought you'd be interested to know that Eladio escaped."

"Escaped? How?" Sam interrupted.

"This is my partner," Dean said, making the formal introductions. "Special Agent Anderson. Dana Anderson," he added, after a short pause.

"Dana?" Lozano repeated. "Like the woman's name?"

Sam grimaced but somehow managed to let the comment slide. "How did Eladio escape?" he said instead.

"Well, we put him on the bus this morning but none of the other illegals would get on the bus with him. They were too afraid." Lozano shrugged. "They believe he's the chupacabra. They began fighting with the guards and in the commotion nobody was paying attention to Eladio. By the time we calmed the other illegals down, Eladio was gone." Lozano sighed. "The others still won't get on the bus," he said. "They say it's been 'touched' by the chupacabra." He rolled his eyes.

"You're telling us that Eladio just walked out of here?" Sam asked incredulously.

Lozano was unperturbed. "Looks like it," he agreed. "But this is a small town and he doesn't have many places to go. And he didn't look too good this morning. You remember what he looked like yesterday?" he said to Dean. "We think he's running a fever. He won't be too hard to find again."

"You have any idea where he might go?" Dean asked.

"There is one place."

* * * * *

"I have not seen Eliado," the young woman said defiantly.

"You seem pretty sure of that, Gabrielle," Agent Lozano said.

The woman thrust her chin up. "I am."

"You have a nice set-up here," Lozano went on, looking around the middle-class home where Gabrielle Salazar was the nanny to two children. "Do the Petersons know about your background?"

"I have nothing to hide," Gabrielle said. "I am not an illegal. You cannot deport me."

"We can send you to jail for aiding and abetting a criminal," Sam interjected.

Dean inwardly groaned. Clearly, he was supposed to be playing the good cop. "Gabrielle," he said, stepping forward. "We just want to make sure that Eladio is okay. He's sick and he could be a danger to himself, as well as to others."

"Sure," Gabrielle said. "You want to make sure he's okay, so you can send him back to Mexico."

"It's the law," Sam stated matter-of-factly.

Yeah, those empathy lessons were really kicking in.

"Gabrille," Dean tried again. "We don't think you cousin killed Maria."

"We don't?" Sam questioned.

"No," Dean replied, shooting his brother a 'Shut up now' look. "We're still investigating the circumstances surrounding her death. They're . . . unusual. And we think Eladio can help us."

Gabrielle's strong facade crumpled then. Something Dean had said had struck a chord with her and before Dean knew it, he had his arms full of sobbing Mexican chiquita. He patted her back awkwardly and looked to Sam for help. Sam merely raised her eyebrows. Sobbing chicks were no longer his department. Dean continued the awkward patting.

After a few minutes and a thoroughly wet suit jacket, Gabrielle looked up at Dean with tear-stained eyes. "I will talk to you," she said. "But you alone." She glared at Sam and Agent Lozano, who both made their way out of the living room to wait outside on the front porch.

Dean sat down on the sofa with Gabrielle beside him. "Do you know what happened to Maria?" he asked.

Gabrielle sniffed. "I don't believe Eladio killed her," she said.

"Who do you think killed her then?"

"His brother, Alfredo."

Dean managed to keep a straight face. Barely. He was about to listen to the next chapter of "Marimar." "I thought Maria loved Alfredo," he said, plunging in and taking the bait.

"She did not love either of them!" Gabrielle cried vehemently. "But between the two brothers, she was much more fond of Eladio. Gentle Eladio." She clutched Dean's hand. "It's Alfredo you have to watch out for. Alfredo, he has a temper! And he is violent!"

Dean was having flashes of the perfectly rational conversation that he and Sam had had with Alfredo the day before.

"Alfredo was jealous. He couldn't stand the fact that Maria did not return his love, but returned the love of somebody else," Gabrielle continued.

"Not Eladio?"

"No." Gabrielle leaned in. "Maria . . . loved . . . me."

* * * * *

Dean had a headache by the time he stepped out of the Peterson home. Sam, who had been leaning against the banister of the front porch instantly fell into step beside him. "So, what'd he say?" he prompted.

Dean sighed and stopped walking, massaging his temples with his right forefinger and thumb. He instantly held up his left hand when he saw Sam reaching for him. "Now is **not** a touchy, feely moment," he said sternly.

"You look like you could use a massage," Sam observed. "Your shoulders are so tense."

"Dude," Dean said, actually stepping away when Sam made another move. "Stow the touchy, feely crap. We're working a case."

"I can't give you a massage when we're on a case?"

"Not **here** ," Dean hissed, gesturing at the suburban neighborhood around them. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Agent Lozano standing by his car speaking into his radio. "Look, Gabrielle doesn't think Eladio killed Maria. In fact, she's certain it's Alfredo. Apparently, older brother has anger management issues."

"Because?"

"Because we're in a Mexican soap opera. A **lesbian** soap opera."

"Oh," Sam said, clearly surprised. He paused. "That's kinda hot."

Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Agent Lozano was signaling him.

"Agent Fox!" Lozano called. "There's been another murder. Convenience store, not far from here."

Dean gestured that he was on his way. When he stepped forward, Sam stepped forward with him. "No," Dean told him. "You stay here."

"Why?"

"Because I think Gabrielle's still hiding something," Dean explained. "Watch the house. Eladio might come back."

"I thought our suspect was Alfredo now."

"Eladio, Alfredo, whoever! The family's fucked up," Dean said, without the slightest hint of irony.

"Sex is a great de-stressor."

Dean looked at his brother in disbelief.

"I'm just saying . . ." Sam trailed off.

"Just watch the house," Dean said again.

* * * * *

"Everything all right?" Agent Lozano asked him when Dean got in Lozano's car. Sam was on stakeout duty in the Impala.

"Just peachy," Dean replied tersely. "Who's the victim?" he asked, quickly changing the subject.

"Boy on duty at the convenience store," Lozano said. He filled Dean in on the details as they drove there.

Dean mulled over the victims in his mind when Lozano was done. They'd been so focused on Maria that they hadn't been able to make a connection with the other murders. Worse, there didn't seem to be any connection aside from the two migrant workers, which lead Dean to the conclusion that they were murders of proximity or necessity rather than any real motivation. Only Maria's murder was clouded by ulterior motives. The chupacabra was a beast after all. It shouldn't need a reason to kill except for the obvious - food. But Dean couldn't shake the feeling that they were missing something. Maybe this wasn't an ordinary chupacabra. Hell, what if it wasn't a chupacabra to begin with?

The attack at the convenience store obliterated Dean's theorizing. This was the one murder that didn't fit his geographical MO. The three other victims had all been found in the open and near livestock that had also been mutilated and drained of blood. This murder had taken place in the town with zero livestock nearby. But the method was still the same: the victim was drained of blood, there was a strong trace of sulfur and for the first time, Dean got a look at the fungal infection for himself. Although Sam hadn't mentioned it, Dean could tell that the infection was spreading. The dessicated body looked like it had a head-to-toe condition of athlete's foot and the smell was nasty. He put a handkerchief over his nose as he inspected the body, careful not to touch anything.

"I think we got a hit on Eliado," Agent Lozano told him. "Somebody fitting his description was seen at the truck depot. He's probably trying to hitch a ride."

"Let's roll."

* * * * *

Sam was bored. Stakeouts could be boring. Especially stakeouts without the company of his brother. At least Dean provided a distraction, although that probably defeated the point of a stakeout. Sam sighed. He'd much rather be examining a crime scene than sitting in a car.

But this stakeout was just about to get interesting. A moving shadow at the side of the house caught Sam's attention and he sat up straighter in his seat. A figure was opening a side window. Sam got out of the car, drawing his gun as he did so. The figure climbed inside. Sam jogged towards the house, approaching the side window that the stranger had just entered. He peered inside. He could hear hushed voices. Through the window's gauzy curtains he could see the silhouette of two figures. They appeared to be arguing. One of them was obviously Gabrielle. Sam couldn't tell who the man was. It may have been Eladio or Alfredo or someone else altogether. Suddenly, the stranger grabbed Gabrielle. She let out a scream as the man leaned over her. Sam made his move.

* * * * *

It was early evening by the time Dean and Agent Lozano arrived at the truck depot, which was located at the opposite end of town. Lozano had called for back up but the police were still ten minutes away. They began their search at the diner by showing a snapshot of Eliado to the owner and his staff. Everyone remembered him. He'd looked very sick when he'd entered, pale and shivering, sweating profusely.

"His eyes were red," one waitress said.

"You mean bloodshot?" Dean clarified.

She shook her head. "No, I mean red," she explained. "Like the devil's."

"Do you know what he wanted?"

"He was asking around for a ride," the owner told Dean. "A ride back across the border. Can you imagine that?" he laughed. "An illegal trying to get back into Mexico." He shook his head. "But nobody would let him hitch a ride. Not the way he looked. Like he was about to die on you. Or worse, maybe give you what he had."

"How long ago was this?" Dean asked.

"Thirty minutes?" the owner relipled.

"Chances are he's still around," Lozano said as he and Dean stood outside the diner's entrance. "If nobody would give him a ride, he could try to sneak on board one of these trucks."

"Looks like we're doing this the old-fashioned way," Dean said as they began their truck-by-truck search.

Thirty minutes later, they'd turned up nothing. The local police had arrived and joined in the manhunt but to no avail. Dean was more frustrated than ever. Where the hell could a sick man, who may or may not be a chupacabra, probably carrying some infectious fungal virus have hidden? Dean was standing on the outskirts of the truck depot. He looked at the woods across the depot. Now there was a thought.

Just then this attention was drawn by two men speaking loudly in Spanish. Dean followed the noise. It lead to one of the semis near him. As he rounded the back of the truck, he caught sight of Eladio. He was pleading with the other man, grabbing him by the shoulders. The man recoiled him from as though he were afraid, pushing Eladio away.

"El chupacabra!" the man yelled hysterically.

"No! No!" Eladio yelled back. He turned and saw Dean walking towards them with his gun drawn.

"Stop!" Dean yelled. Eladio looked him straight in the eye and for a moment Dean froze. Eladio's eyes were glinting red in the darkness. Then he bolted.

Dean felt rooted to the spot, but he quickly snapped out of it. He ran past the shaken truck driver. Eladio couldn't have gotten far. He scanned the area. There! Headed towards the woods Dean saw a stumbling figure and he chased after it into the darkness.

* * * * *

"This is a true story," the old woman said to her young audience.

Old Esmeralda loved story night, when the children would gather round in her small living area and listen to her tales. It reminded her of her lost youth, of her days back in Mexico before the hardship of coming to America with her husband and the failure of the American dream. Now Esmeralda was known as the village gossip, but she knew that she was more than that. She was the teller of tales, the keeper of stories. It was her responsibility to keep tradition alive, to ensure that the people of the small town did not lose touch with their heritage and their ways. She brought comfort and familiarity, and on some nights such as these, she brought a touch of fear.

"Once upon a time," she began, "there were two brothers. The older brother was hardworking and responsible, while the younger brother was dashing and full of dreams. These brothers were as close as brothers could be. They grew up promising to always watch each other's back, vowing that no one would ever come between them, for nothing is thicker in this world than blood. They held true to this promise until one day they met a beautiful woman. Her name was Maria Morales. She was young and full of life, and both brothers instantly fell in love with her. And so they began competing with each other to win Maria's love. Alfredo worked harder than ever and he made himself a successful businessman, but it was Eladio whom Maria cared for, Eladio with his big dreams and gentle nature. They kept their love a secret from Alfredo until one day he caught them in the field just outside of the village. Alfredo's love became twisted and ugly. Jealousy and betrayal burned in his heart. That was the day of the strange yellow rain . . ."

* * * * *

"There are so many versions of that story," Paula Dorantes said disdainfully. "But only **I** know the truth. I was friends with both of them."

"Tell us what happened, Paula," one of the woman encouraged.

Paula smiled. It was lunch hour at the clothing factory and she knew that she had a captive audience of seamstresses.

"Men," Paula began with a theatrical toss of her long, curly hair. "They always think the story revolves around them. How many times have you heard the version of two men plus one woman equals trouble?" She scoffed. "That is so twentieth century. No," she said, eyes glinting. "This is a story for the twenty-first century!"

She dropped her voice for dramatic effect. "It is true," she went on, "that the two brothers were involved, Alfredo and Eladio Salazar. It is true that they both loved Maria, and it is true that they fought for her affection. It is also true that Maria was fond of the younger brother, gentle Eladio. But it is **not** true that she loved him. Oh, Maria entertained their advances. Why not? She was young and beautiful, and there are not many prospects in our little town as you well know."

Murmurs of assent went around the crowded lunchroom.

"That is, until one day she met their younger cousin, Gabrielle. Gabrielle worked as a nanny for the Peterson family. Carl Peterson," Paula said conspiratorially, "is the former manager of this factory until he was transferred after the 'incident.'"

This time a round of 'oohs' and 'ahhs' passed through the lunchroom. The Peterson detail always gave Paula's story that added touch of credibility.

"Gabrielle and Maria became fast friends. Soon they were inseparable. Many thought they were like sisters, using their bond as a cover up for Maria to be close to one of the brothers. Some said it was Alfredo, the better prospect. Others said it was Eladio, the hopeless romantic. But I tell you ladies that this is the truth. Gabrielle and Maria were **more** than sisters."

There was a collective gasp.

"You mean," began the woman nearest to Paula.

Paula nodded gravely. "Yes."

* * * * *

"I recently worked with the F.B.I. on an unusual case," Agent Lozano told his new, young partner, Agent Esteban, fresh from passing his licensure examinations.

"El chupacabra?" Esteban asked.

Lozano laughed. "So, you have heard of it?"

"Who has not?"

"And what have you heard?"

"I have heard that the case was unresolved and that the two key suspects disappeared, leaving four victims and one missing person in their wake."

"Then what you have heard is only half the story," Lozano said, pouring the younger man another shot of tequila. They were in his office and everyone else had already gone home for the day. "Let me tell you the other half."

Esteban waited expectantly.

"Sometimes on this job, Esteban," Lozano began. "You will learn that it is best for justice to be served by tradition. There are many gray areas in our department, many things that belong to myth and legend."

"Such as El chupacabra," Esteban suggested.

"Such as El chupacabra," Lozano agreed.

"So, what did you do with our mythical creature?"

"I trapped him, of course," Lozano said triumphantly. "That F.B.I. agent that I was working with, David Fox, he was quick and very clever. But I outsmarted him in the end. These gringos. They don't understand that some things must stay within the family."

Esteban nodded his head in solemn agreement.

"That night, Fox and I tracked Eladio to the truck depot on the outskirts of town. We knew he was in the area, so we did a truck-by-truck search. Eventually, it was Fox who found him and chased him into the woods beside the depot." Lozano paused.

"And then?"

"And then it was I who caught him," Lozano said with satisfaction. "Fox ws close, very close, but Eladio eluded his grasp. But I knew where he was going. Once he had lost the chance of leaving the town through the trucks, I knew that he would return to the village. There was nowhere else for him to go."

"The village? That's loco. Who would hide El chupacabra?"

Lozano shook his head. "He didn't go back there to hide. He went there for vengeance! He went there to get justice for Maria against his brother. What law will stand in the way of brotherly justice?"

Esteban nodded his head solemnly.

* * * * *

"You lost him in the woods?" Bobby said disbelievingly. Then he turned to Sam. "And you," he said, just as threateningly. "You were overpowered by a nanny?"

Dean knew that Sam couldn't feel anything, but it didn't really matter. He was mortified enough for both of them.

"It sounds so much worse when you say it that way," Sam said matter-of-factly.

Dean cringed.

Bobby sighed. "So let me get this straight," he said after a moment. "You lost both your suspects. You never even saw the chupacabra. You have no actual explanation for how the four victims died - including the mystery fungus - and then the **nanny** disappeared?"

"Well, I don't think she actually disappeared," Sam interrupted. "I mean, I'm pretty sure Alfredo took her. Or maybe she took him."

"So she disappeared," Bobby repeated.

Dean turned to look at his brother. "How did the nanny take you down again?" he asked. "I thought you were the Terminator."

Sam shifted uncomfortably. "She was really strong," he said seriously. "Like **inhumanly** strong. I thought Alfredo was going to kill her, but it was the other way around. I'm not really sure what happened. One minute he was grabbing her, then I was running into the room. I didn't even get a shot off. Gabrielle turned to look at me and her eyes! They were red. I thought she hypnotized me for a moment."

Sam stopped. Bobby and Dean were looking at him expectantly.

"Then?" Bobby said at last.

"Then I was on the floor." Sam shrugged. "Gabrielle was leaning over Alfredo and I blacked out."

Bobby shook his head. "What can I say, boys?" he said after a moment. "That has got to be the sorriest, most pathetic hunt I have ever heard of in my life." 

The Winchesters remained silent. There really wasn't anything they could say to redeem themselves.

"And why are you boys here anyway? 'Cos you sure as hell ain't gonna get any sympathy from me."

Sam pointed at his brother, meaning he had no clue why Dean had just driven fifteen hours to get to Sioux Falls.

"I need to rest," Dean said by way of explanation.

"They have motels for that," Bobby said dryly.

"No, I mean, I need to **rest** ," Dean emphasized, cocking his head in Sam's direction.

Bobby looked from Dean to Sam and back to Dean again. Clearly, he was missing something.

"And what exactly does that have to do with me?"

Since subtlety wasn't getting him anywhere, Dean decided to be blunt. "Look, until Sam gets back on the soul train, I'm not comfortable just . . ."

"Just what?" Bobby prodded.

Dean couldn't find the right words. "Look, he needs to be watched at all times."

"And I'm your **baby-sitter**?"

"He's Jiminy Cricket," Sam said as though a comparison would help.

Bobby was about to shoot back a sharp retort but the look on Dean's face stopped him. There was no humor there and the tiredness in Dean's eyes was from more than a night's drive. No, Dean looked worn out. Exhausted. Sam was bleeding him dry and Bobby had to do something about that.

"If you need to rest," Bobby said gruffly. "What are you doing down here telling me your pathetic story?"

Dean gave him a faint smile, a look of understanding passing between them. "Well," he said to Sam as he stood up. "That's my cue to crash. Don't give grandpa a hard time now."

* * * * *

Originally, Dean thought he would strip down to his t-shirt and boxers before getting into the bed he usually occupied at Bobby's. Unfortunately, he got as far as taking off his shoes before coming to the conclusion that everything else was too much effort. He was practically half-asleep when he landed on the bed. Everything was catching up with him: the two crazy cases - fairies and phantom chupacabras; the long drive; but most of all it was Sam. Sam had become a Walking Id, a name he had jokingly called his brother when they first got to the Migrant Workers Camp at San Janqui Valley. After these two cases however, Dean was beginning to realize that the expression at times could be quite literal. Part of Sam was calculating, manipulative and purely rational. That was his Top Ripley side. But the other part of him demanded instant gratification, and that was when the Walking Id came to the fore. His brother wasn't that hard to figure out at all. When Sam had an objective (such as solving a case) or when he decided he wanted something (such as sleeping with his brother), he put all his energy into achieving it. Whether or not he bent or broke the rules here and there, hurt others along the way was irrelevant. He got the job done. He got what he wanted. And what he seemed to want most of all right now was Dean. That was probably a good thing, Dean thought sleepily. It was his leverage. He could keep Sam interested until they figured out a way to get his soul back. That is, if Sam's interest didn't wane or end up killing Dean first.

Dean was almost completely in dreamland when he felt the weight of the bed shift and a warmth pressing against his back. He kept his eyes shut but his senses were on high alert. There was a hand on his left arm, a pressure on his shoulder where Sam was resting his chin.

"What's rule number four?" he asked.

Sam thought about it. "You need to sleep," he replied.

"And that's what I'm trying to do." Dean waited for some movement to indicate that Sam was leaving, but when none came he sighed and turned around. "What is it?"

"I've been thinking," Sam began.

"That used to be a good thing," Dean noted.

"Hear me out," Sam said. He was lying on his side, head propped in his right hand looking down at his brother. "I've been trying really, really hard. Your rules are **exhausting** and a lot of the time, they don't make sense to me. But I'm following them, Dean. I really am. I've done everything you said and I think I'm doing a decent job."

Dean had a flashback to patchouli but instead of mentioning that he said, "Aside from being taken down by the nanny?"

"Hey, you didn't fare so well either Mr. I-Lost-the-Sick-Guy-Who-May-Have-Been-the-Chupacabra-in-the-Dark-and-Scary-Woods," Sam shot back.

Touché

"What's your point?" Dean asked.

"My point is," Sam said, smiling in a way that made Dean's heart clench. "I think I should be rewarded for my effort." He gave Dean a knowing look. Dean considered playing dumb. "Look," Sam said exasperatedly. "I can't jump you, right? But you promised that it would work the other way around."

Dean wanted to remind him that he'd technically made no such promise. His exact words at the bachelor party had been, 'Things could **change** ,' but the look on Sam's face told him that his brother wasn't interested in technicalities. Dean had to think quickly. Sam was licking his lips in a way that told him Rule #2, and possibly Rule #3, were about to be broken. Dean worked best on instinct so he let his instinct take over, reaching up and grabbing the back of Sam's head. He pulled his brother down for a vicious kiss, hard and bruising, the way he knew this Sam liked it. Sam responded immediately and the kiss was drawn out. Sam's hunger was insatiable, but Dean had to stop it before things got out of hand. When they broke for air, Dean placed a hand on Sam's chest to prevent his brother from diving in again.

"Hey," he said. "Let me rest now and I will fuck your brains out later."

Sam's eyes glinted and he had that frightening look of single-minded determination that Dean had seen so often of late. Dean didn't think 'later' was in his brother's vocabulary at this moment, but Sam held off, even though his eyes were fixated on his brother's lips. He wasn't sure he believed Dean, but the taste of his brother was still on him and he licked his lips as a reminder. Dean's kiss had been filthy and sexy, without hesitation or trepidation. It promised more. He could wait a bit longer.

Dean arched an eyebrow questioningly when Sam made no move to get off the bed.

"What?" Sam asked. "Can't I wait here? This bed **is** big enough for both of us," he pointed out.

"Did we not agree that you watching me sleep is bordering on rapey?"

"Did we?"

"Yes, we did."

"Suck it up, Dean," Sam said. "I'm not going anywhere."

Dean rolled back onto his right side. So much for rest. He felt Sam settle behind him again and an arm draped around his waist. He tensed. He couldn't help it.

"Relax. I said I wouldn't jump you."

"Then what are you doing?"

There was silence.

"I remember doing this before," Sam said at last. "The old me used to do this. Especially when you were really tired."

The ache in Dean's chest grew. "That's because it meant something to the old you. Why are you doing this now?"

More silence.

"I thought it would help you sleep."

Dean shut his eyes. The sooner he slept, the sooner he'd wake up and the sooner they'd get down to business. He could read between the lines. Dean didn't have the strength to argue anymore, mentally or physically, and in a matter of minutes, he really was asleep.

Sam still remembered going through the motions of sleeping when Dean first joined him after a year away from hunting. It was a relief to stop pretending. Sleep was one of those things that didn't make sense to Sam anymore. Wouldn't the world be a better, more efficient place if people didn't have to sleep? There was so much else you could do. But just this once, Sam didn't do any of those things. Instead, he stayed by his brother while Dean slept, even though it was hard for him to remember what fatigue and exhaustion felt like, two things Dean was clearly suffering from.

The truth was Sam was starting to have doubts about the whole soul business. Following Dean's rules, thinking about others, considering the consequences of one's actions - it was damn hard work. Having a soul seemed to be all about suffering. What had Dean called it? Suffering, the only game in town. Why would he want that when life was so much simpler this way?

Sam's eyes rested on his brother's form. Dean was such a puzzle to him. His brother was predictable but enigmatic. His motivations were a complete mystery to Sam. Dean was driven by something called 'love,' love for a person that Sam no longer was. Maybe Dean was chasing a pipe dream. Maybe not. Together they'd beaten insurmountable odds before. And that was the key, wasn't it? Once upon a time, being together had made them stronger. Sam didn't believe that anymore. He could function perfectly fine, probably even better, without his brother. Now that Dean knew he was alive, he wasn't sure that Dean could do the same. But that wasn't why Sam stuck around, why he'd agreed to Dean's conditions. It was true that part of him enjoyed the challenge, but there was another part, a stronger part that burned with curiosity. Dean was a novelty, an oddity. He held Sam's interest. Out of all the people that Sam had encountered since getting out of the cage, it was Dean that he was automatically drawn to; it was Dean that struck him as the most alive and Sam's rational mind couldn't figure out why. More and more a single question kept popping into his head that he had no answer for.

What would it be like, Sam wondered, to see the world through Dean's eyes?

**Fin.**


End file.
